Sermon for the 20th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 22, 2017
Preaching texts: Isaiah 45:1-7, Matthew 22:15-22

We think of Jesus in many different ways: God, teacher, human being, savior, prophet, King, Lord, etc. One thing that never pops onto that last is comedian. We don’t think of Jesus as funny or witty or clever. Smart, yes, but not sly. The truth is however he was quite clever and our Gospel lesson today is proof of it. The Pharisees, his age-old enemies, are trying to trap him again, to catch him making what we’d call today a gaffe. “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?” Quite a question. If he says yes, they can turn the crowd against him by portraying him as a supporter of the hated Romans. If he says no, they can turn the Romans against him by portraying him as an agitator or insurrectionist. They’ve got him...or so they think.

Then Jesus escapes by making a pun.

Yeah, a pun. A play on words, a joke exploiting the different possible meanings of a word. The word in question is “image.” Imago in Latin, eikon in Greek, tselem in Hebrew. “Whose image is this on the coin of the tax?” Jesus asks them back. It is, of course, the face of Caesar Tiberius, the current ruler of Rome. But the word “image” is meant to evoke another thought, to harken those clever BIblical scholars back to the Genesis story where humankind is created in the “image of God.” Caesar’s image is on the coin, but whose image is on Caesar?

“Render unto Caesar” becomes, in a very real sense, redundant, for that too is a form of “rendering unto God.” Jesus escapes the trap but leaves us with a very different view of the world than we started with. Could it be that Caesar is an instrument of God’s will? Could it be that government serves a purpose in God’s plan? And to what end? To what purpose?

These are particularly difficult questions in these modern times and, in particular, in this country. We Americans, almost from birth, are programmed with a certain distrust and disdain for our government. “Washington” is often spoken with a sneer as if the whole city is tainted in someway by being the seat of government.

That "wretched hive of scum and villainy"

This animosity is made worse when the government is being run by “them,” that is to say the political party we don’t vote for. Those people. Those liberals! Those conservatives! We’re all full of invective when it comes to the other party running our government and all full of praise when it’s our guys in power.

I’m as guilty as anyone of this, as I’m sure you’re aware. And we all have good reason for our suspicions. As the old Spiderman saying goes, “With great power comes great responsibility” (and yes, I have a movie quote for every occasion.) Who has more power than those who make the laws that govern our land? Laws that can heal and help, or hurt and harm. We love the former (inasmuch as we’re the ones being helped) and hate the latter.

Every government, every political party, every policy proposal has its flaws, because they are the creations of human beings. Sinful flawed humans like us. But in the same way that God takes our broken selves and makes something more of them through his grace, he does also with the power-that-be of our world. The government, the corporation, the church all have their purpose in God’s plan.

Luther speaks of this in his writing. He speaks of the secular powers as the left hand of God, the Kingdom of the Left, whose purpose is to establish peace and order here on Earth. The Church is seen as God’s right hand, the Kingdom of the Right, offering grace, mercy, forgiveness, and salvation for the world to come. This is what is known as his “Two Kingdoms” doctrine. I would argue however that the kingdom of the Left serves an additional purpose. Peace and order are good and necessary for human civilization, but I also believe they are the instruments of justice in our world.

And that, that is truly when government serves the purposes of God.

Consider our first lesson. Isaiah the prophet speaks of a man named Cyrus. Who is that? Well, Cyrus is King Cyrus the Great, ruler of the Persian Empire in the 6th century BC. One of the most powerful men in the world. His empire is on the rise, threatening the borders of declining Babylon. Babylon who has enslaved God’s people for a generation. What will this new king do when he marches into town with his armies? Will he be another tyrant? Or a liberator?

The way Isaiah’s prophecy reads, it could go either way. But when Cyrus does invade and he does conquer Babylon, he proves a man of justice. He sets the slaves free, sends the Israelites home. He brings liberty to the captives, justice to the oppressed. There’s a reason he is the only other Biblical figure besides Jesus to carry the title “Messiah.” God’s anointed, come to set his people free.

What would our government look like if it served the purposes of God? We, of course, like our rhetoric about how this is supposed to be a “Christian nation,” but all too often that’s used as a bludgeon against people. People who don’t measure up morally or who worship in ways different than us. That’s not justice. To me, a Christian nation would be one that follows as best it can the teachings of Jesus: One where the poor are cared for, the sick healed, and the stranger welcomed. In many ways, that’s what our Founders truly envisioned. That’s the dream of America, a place where nothing would hinder the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness. Not poverty. Not sickness. Not the tyranny of petty men. Nothing.

Of course, the dream and the reality are often very far apart. America is still a nation made up of flawed sinful human beings and that is, as it is everywhere, reflected in our laws and government. We’re not perfect, but we could be better. As a republic, based on the idea that we have a say in how our government is run, we have a great opportunity to steer the ship of state towards or away from God’s image of justice. That question confronts everyone of us.

God used Cyrus to bring justice to his people. Jesus implies the same of Caesar. In this great republic that we live, that call now comes to us as citizens and disciples of Jesus. What are we going to do with it? Work to make truer the words of our pledge, that this is a land dedicated to “liberty and justice for all?” Or let apathy, cynicism, or selfishness lead us down a darker path, where the rights and privileges of our society are only for a few based on their skin color, gender, or economic status? The choice is before each one of us. What are we going to do? Amen.

Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 8, 2017
Preaching text: Matthew 21: 33-46

To paraphrase Forrest Gump, “Human is as human does.” We’re an interesting lot. Full of emotion, passion, love of life, and yet also consumed by fear, hatred, and a whole host of vices we’d rather not talk about. We’re a “savage child race” as the Q being in Star Trek called us and he’s not wrong. Six or seven thousand years of civilization and we’re only now just starting to acknowledge that people who are a little bit different in terms of gender, skin color, sexual orientation, whatever might actually be human after all. Like us, the same, only different. And that’s okay. Wow, what a radical thought.

I wish that was more of a joke than it is, but for much of human history, we’ve been looking for every excuse under the sun to look down on others. Hence why I find parables like the one Jesus is telling in our Gospel to be so problematic. Without question, this is one of those texts we Christians have used to justify our persecution of the Jewish people. God loves us more than you. We’re your replacements. You rejected Christ, so we’re better than you. And so forth.

Again, I wish that was more of a joke than it is, but the blood of millions of people over the past 2000 years makes it deadly serious. But we got this text wrong. It was never meant as an indictment of the Jewish people. It was meant as an indictment of the same sort of self-righteousness that has littered our history with the corpses of those who didn’t measure up to our moral standards. Ironically, it condemns those who killed the Jews out of a misplaced sense of self-superiority rather than the Jews themselves.

It all centers on what the Pharisees were in the time of Jesus. Paul gives us some insight into their mindset in our Second lesson today. He was, after all, one of them. Zeal was their defining characteristic and they were determined to be the best most devoted most moral Jews possible. Some undoubtedly did this out of passionate love of God, but others it is clear did so in order to feel superior to others. To lord over them how much better they were at keeping the law. But regardless of whether their intentions were good or self-serving, they too had misinterpreted the Scriptures.

Now, in fairness, it’s an easy mistake to make because people have been making this same mistake since the law was first given. Consider the Ten Commandments. We all know them and if you need a refresher, they stand as our first lesson today. Look at the way they’re written. All those “Thou shalt nots” and what have you. Can you see the problem? The way the commandments are written focuses one to turn their morality inward. It’s all about me and what I do for myself in my relationship with God. That’s a problem.

If you keep reading through the rest of Exodus and the rest of the Torah, you quickly discover the Commandments are the beginning of morality, not its end. “You shall not murder” really means “Take care of your neighbor.” “You shall not covet” really means “Be satisfied with what you have.” The law now moves outward, becoming as Jesus so beautifully paraphrased it “Love your neighbor as yourself.” But so many never get that far. The Pharisees included.

Thus, over the course of the Old Testament, God has sent prophets to remind the people what the law was always supposed to be about. It’s not inward, it’s outward. Care for the less fortunate. Healing for the sick. Charity for the poor. Welcome for the stranger. It is all these things. But the self-righteous did not want to listen, often outright murdering prophets who told them what they didn’t want to hear. And then, at last comes Jesus, the Son of God, who brought the same message. And we know what they did to him.

Is the message of the parable becoming clear to you now?

The Pharisees are still with us but they’re not Jews anymore, they’re Christians. Christians caught up in their own sense of superiority, thoroughly convinced their dedication to the law makes them better people than everyone else. The Church, and in particular the American Church, is infested with them. Like they did in Jesus day, they run society. Oh, not quite as directly, but you can see their work all over the place.

The sick? Hah, healthcare is a privilege for those who deserve it. Homeless vets? Well, we prefer vets who weren’t captured or wounded or damaged, don’t we? The poor? Well, they’re all criminals, eating their steaks on the government dole. The stranger? Coming to take our jobs or worse, they could be terrorists! Bad hombres!!!

We’re a nation of Pharisees. Full of sanctimony and judgment. And people like Matthew Shepard and Trayvon Martin give silent testimony to the fact that we still are more than happy to kill and murder those who don’t measure up to our standards. And people like Martin Luther King and more recently Heather Heyer give similar testimony to what we often do to those who call us out over it.

Savage child race, indeed.

It needn’t be this way. The law of God reveals his heart, his hope that all his children here on Earth would love and care for one another. That we would work for each other’s well-being. Jesus is, in so many ways, the ultimate demonstration of that. He was one of us; he was human. And he loved his neighbors. He healed the sick. Welcomed the stranger, treated all with fairness and equity. He demonstrated in powerful ways what God’s law was really about. Not a bludgeon to beat people with nor a pedestal on top of which we are meant to stand and crow about how great we are, but a guide on how to love in God’s way.

That’s what Jesus wants of us. That’s what the Church is meant to be, a place of love and welcome to all people. Not a place that demands a moral perfection that none of us can truly reach, but a place where all can come to dwell in the love of God and neighbor. Human beings are social creatures and one other lesson of history is that we thrive best when we work together to care for one another. God knows that, and perpetually urges us toward that path. He wants what’s best for us so we, in turn, can want what’s best for one another. Amen.

Sermon for the Festival of St. Francis of Assisi

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on October 1, 2017
Preaching text: Genesis 1:20-28

About three, maybe four, months ago, I had to say goodbye to my good friend Pammy. Pammy was my border collie. When I first moved out on my own after graduating from seminary, I knew the first thing I was going to do was buy a dog. A friend of mine hooked me up with a little Spitz mix named Binksy. But Binksy had some unexpected health issues and died very suddenly about six months after I got her.

I was pretty torn up so I shared with my congregation what had happened. One of my members, Don Gnegy (who I've spoken of in these sermons before), came up to me after worship and told me his daughter bred BCs and there might be a dog available. Well, fast forward a month, and I got to meet Pammy. She was this beautiful all-white-except-for-her-head dog. Lean, fast, and loving. It was love at first sight. We were meant to be together. She was my best friend for many years.

Pammy loved everybody and everybody loved her. In fact, I owe it partly to Pammy that I have Sarah and Emily in my life. When Sarah and I were dating, Emily came to love Pammy. “Where’s my Pammy puppy?” she would ask me. Her puppy? Well, that came along soon enough.

Pammy was Emily’s age, so they grew up together. When I had to move to PA, Pammy couldn’t come along, so she went to live with my parents. I got regular updates on how she was doing and I’d still get to see her when I would come visit. And sadly, this summer I had to learn that Pammy had died at the ripe old age of 14.

And even though she’s gone, Pammy is very much still with me. After Sarah and I got married, we added two other dogs to our menagerie, Lucy and Sadie, two puppies that Pammy helped raise into the ornery and rotten dogs that we still have today. (In fact, I’m writing this sermon with both of them lying at my feet.)

Pammy with Sadie...the beginning.

The "puppies" now.

Every pet owner has a story like that, a tale of a dog or cat or some other animal that made an impact on our lives. They are truly part of our family, they love us and care for us as much as we do them. I never doubted that I was loved when Pammy was around, because she would always remind me with a wet nose and an insistence on being petted RIGHT NOW. There’s an old joke about how there’s a reason why dog is God spelled backwards, because both love us unconditionally.

I think perhaps that St. Francis understood that. The famous founder of the Franciscan order of monks in the middle ages was known for many things, but we remember chiefly today in both Protestant and Catholic circles as a man who saw the innate and intrinsic connection between God and the natural world. He understood, in way perhaps that most Christians have not, just what it means when God declared creation “good.”

But who of us have not been enraptured by a sunrise, delighted by a rainbow, and awe-stuck by the stars? Who has not found peace and tranquility in the sound of a bubbling brook or a singing bird? Who has not been thrilled by a beautiful summer day or the beauty of the changing leaves of autumn or the pleasant crunch of snow under your boot? And, of course, who has not met love in the warm affection of a beloved pet?

These are God’s gifts to us. Things in which he meant for us to enjoy, to delight in, as he delighted in him. God is, at his core, an artist. He has painted a wondrous and amazing tableau in the whole of creation and, like any good artist, wants others to enjoy and appreciate his work. Look at the stars, the mountains, the lakes, the rivers, the birds, the animals. All this, he says, I did for you.

And our response to that wondrous gift is akin to the thug who marches into the Louvre and sprays graffiti all over the face of the Mona Lisa. The human race has taken God’s instruction to “have dominion” over creation as license to bully, abuse, and exploit it for our own selfish gain.

One of the other things St. Francis was famous for was his noteworthy renunciation of wealth. In fact, the story goes that he was confronted by his wealthy father one day for having abandoned his family fortunes and obligations. Francis is said to have responded to his father’s chastisement by stripping naked in the town square and shaming his father by handing him his clothes. I do not want even these to get between me and my God, he likely said. Francis knew something that we so often miss. Greed is dangerous.

In fact, pretty much every human abuse of nature can be laid at the feet of our greed. Michael Vick, the star football player out of Virginia Tech (my alma mater), got himself in a bit a trouble some years ago after he was caught running a dogfighting ring. Why would he do such a thing with animals many of us treat as family? Simple. Money.

I grew up in West Virginia, where it is now common practice to rip the top of a mountain off to get at the coal beneath. Rocks, trees, everything just gone, just so we can sell that coal. Poison dumped into the rivers and streams. We clear thousands of acres of rainforest every day. We dump tons upon tons of greenhouse gases into the air and now the effects of climate change are becoming more and more apparent. But our leaders turn a blind eye to it all. Captains of industry do not care. Why? Money.

I’m reminded of two memes I see periodically on the Internet. One is a political cartoon from the New Yorker, shows four people sitting around a fire in presumably some post-apocalyptic dystopia and one of them says “Well, the planet got destroyed but in a beautiful moment in time we created a lot of value for shareholders.”

The second is said to be an old Native American saying, “When the last tree is cut, the last fish is caught, and the last river is polluted; when to breathe the air is sickening, you will realize, too late, that you can't eat money.” That, my friends, may be our future.

But is it really right for us, as followers of Jesus, to treat the world as such? The creation from which we breathe, drink, and eat? The animals that provide us such companionship and love? The astounding beauty that so often takes our breath away? This is an immense gift of God, but we treat it so poorly.

Our hearts are torn asunder when we see on those ASPCA commercials all the pictures of abused, neglected, and abandoned animals. But that’s how we treat God’s creation, by abusing it and neglecting it. So we are confronted yet again by that eternal question. What are we going to do about it?

You know, when I’m speaking out against all the hate and bigotry in our world, I like to remind us that Christ died even for those we hate. That he loves them. That he seeks to redeem them and claim them for his kingdom. In truth, that love and desire is even broader still. John 3:16 reminds us that “God so loved the world,” not just people, but everything, “that he sent his only son.” Christ loved Pammy and all of our furry friends. He loved the rainbow and the stars, the mountain and the river, the birds of the air, the fish of the stream. And he came for them, to set all of creation right. We have, as his disciples, to be a part of that. And yes, we certainly focus on evangelizing people, telling them the good news of Jesus. But what are we going to do for the natural world? What are we going to do for that other part of creation that God loves? That creation that so often reveals his love for us? Amen.